


what all empty playgrounds know (sympathy is cruel)

by openmouthwideeye



Series: West Eros High [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:59:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openmouthwideeye/pseuds/openmouthwideeye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Girls who don’t spend the weekend texting Jaime Lannister don’t blush when someone brings it up.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	what all empty playgrounds know (sympathy is cruel)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: 
> 
> My original take on this universe was supposed to be a oneshot. That didn't happen, clearly, so I've had to make a few adjustments. What's pertinent to this chapter: yes, Cersei once referred to Joffrey as her little brother, but that's really not working for the grander plot. Joff, Myrcella, and Tommen have become Jaime, Cersei, and Tyrion's cousins. Apologies.
> 
> *title borrowed from the mind of John K. Sampson

Brienne took her time picking her clothes for school on Monday. Half-dinged sneakers instead of her usual ratty ones, jeans without holes in them, a plain purple tee that hadn’t seen the wash too many times. She brushed her hair, which only seemed to frizz it more, and brushed her teeth twice.  
  
She didn’t know what she was more concerned about: seeing Jaime, or seeing his sister.  
  
 _He might not show up_ , she reminded herself for the tenth time.  
  
And if he did, he might not have time for girls too cowardly to visit him in the hospital. Especially girls he had expressly invited, and who had immediately stopped responding to his texts.   
  
 _What does he care if I wasn’t in the hoards of well-wishers who came to see him?  
_  
He didn’t, she was sure. Or maybe his mom was right and he wanted to thank her for taking those stupid punches.  
  
“You look nice this morning,” her dad noted when she jogged down the stairs.   
  
“Not really,” she dodged, feeling awkward.  
  
Her dad held out 5 dollars, and she crumpled them in her pocket and snagged a protein bar.   
  
“Big plans tonight?”  
  
“Hockey,” she shrugged.  
  
Her dad  _hmmm_ ’ed over his stack of papers. She wasn’t sure if it was the manuscript or her lack of a social life that merited the response.  
  
“Do you have big plans?” she asked, stuffing her keys into her pocket and munching on her snack bar.  
  
“Alice has never had seafood.”  
  
“Have fun.”  
  
That was the best she could do. She’d spent most of her childhood hoping her dad’s girlfriends would somehow morph into the perfect stepmom. It had sucked to realize that that was never going to happen.  
  
It sucked to realize that he was lonely, and nothing she could do would make it better.  
  
“Don’t stay out too late,” she added, bending over so he could kiss her temple.   
  
Her dad chuckled into her hair, and Brienne quirked a self-deprecating grin.  
  
 _Well one of us has to say it. And we’ll be waiting a long time if it’s gonna be you.  
_  
“Make some plans,” he called as she left through the kitchen door.  
  
 _Maybe coach’ll let me practice late,_  she thought as she pulled out of the drive.  
  
West Eros High was a sprawling, old-fashioned campus with plenty of grass and a parking lot on every side. The sophomore lot was on the east side, and required hiking up a muddy hill or taking way too many stairs.  
  
Brienne took the stairs for once, cutting across the lawn at the top and heading for a side door. She avoided the swarming masses whenever possible. With her luck, if she tried to brave the main entrance she’d run smack into a cheerleader or three.  
  
 _I really don’t look so bad,_  she tried to convince herself, flattening her hair with one large palm. She had tried, which was more than she could say for most days.  
  
“Brienne,” someone called behind her, so halfheartedly that she barely heard.   
  
She considered not responding, but they repeated her name with more conviction, and Brienne couldn’t feign ignorance.  
  
She turned, and there was Sansa picking at her skirt. Her mom’s van idled behind her, passenger door open, and Mrs. Stark was leaning over to talk to her daughter. As Brienne neared them, Sansa began clicking her heels on the pavement, creating a disjointed rhythm.  
  
“Hey, um,” Sansa glanced at her mom, pursed her lips, and focused on Brienne. “So, I know you don’t know much about, you know, getting pretty or anything–“   
  
Brienne barely winced before she let the comment slide off her.   
  
“—so I was thinking,” the redhead sucked her teeth, balancing on the points of her heels. Brienne grew leery. “If you wanna come over later, I could give you some tips.”  
  
Anxiety climbed Brienne’s spine and fidgeted down to her fingers.  
  
“Oh. Uh. That’s really nice of you, Sansa –“  
  
She tried to think of a polite way to tell Sansa that her kindness sounded like pure torture.   
  
Mrs. Stark cleared her throat, and Sansa jumped in with a too-perky smile.  
  
“Great, see you at 8!”  
  
She slammed the car door and bustled away faster than Brienne thought possible on those stilts.  
  
 _Awesome_ , Brienne thought bleakly.   
  
Maybe Arya could convince Sansa that practice ran late.  
  
“Brienne,” Mrs. Stark jolted her out of her misery. “Thank you.”  
  
Brienne looked at Sansa’s mom, who had rolled down the window to speak with her.  
  
“For what?”   
  
Hard as she tried, Brienne couldn’t think of a single thing Mrs. Stark could misconstrue as something to thank her for.  
  
“Sansa’s friends with all those older girls,” Mrs. Stark explained. “She’s feeling a little left out of the whole cotillion experience.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Brienne hadn’t thought of that.  
  
“I know you’ve got a lot on your plate,” Mrs. Stark smiled, somehow looking concerned and pleased at the same time. “I appreciate you taking the time to make my daughter feel included.”  
  
“Uh, sure, Mrs. Stark,” Brienne rolled her shoulders, embarrassed that she had wanted to ditch the other girl. She’d never been in a position to make anyone feel included before. It felt weird. “Sansa’s . . . sweet.”  
  
“She can be,” Mrs. Stark replied, shaking her head and smiling oddly.  
  
Brienne felt a rush of respect for the older woman, who clearly just wanted her daughter to be happy.  
  
“Whatever I can do,” she offered sincerely, quirking a half shrug.  
  
Brienne barely made it in time for the warning bell. Renly caught up with her as she slammed her locker shut. He was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.  
  
“I hear you had a big weekend,” he greeted, appraising her.   
  
“How-“ she started, before mentally facepalming.   
  
Margaery, Loras, Renly. Duh.  
  
“How was your weekend with your brothers?” she changed the subject as quickly as possible.  
  
“Violent,” Renly dismissed, wrinkling his nose. “Much like yours, I hear.”  
  
She winced, phantom fists on her as she watched Jaime’s arm bend and bleed in her head.  
  
“Loras says none of the guys have ever seen you hulk out like that.”  
  
Brienne ducked her head and kept walking.   
  
Renly stayed beside her, weaving effortlessly through the swarm of students.  
  
“Margaery said Tommen said our illustrious hockey captain was glued to his phone yesterday.”  
  
Brienne blushed and ducked lower.  
  
“So?”  
  
“So,” Renly laughed, “Girls who don’t spend the weekend texting Jaime Lannister don’t blush when someone brings it up.”  
  
“I was at church with my dad yesterday,” she evaded.  
  
“Conveniently, church happens when no normal human is awake,” he pointed out.  
  
“Tommen’s, like, eight.”  
  
“Eight year olds have eyes.”  
  
“Margaery says Tommen’s the least attentive kid she’s ever babysat.”  
  
“So it must’ve been painfully obvious,” Renly reasoned.  
  
“So what if I was?” Brienne hugged her books to her chest. “He’s my teammate. I was worried about him.”  
  
Renly smiled knowingly.   
  
“Stop that,” Brienne scowled.  
  
His face smoothed in an instant.  
  
“I’m sure Lannister needs someone in his corner.”  
  
The corners of his mouth were twitching.  
  
“You’re impossible,” she muttered, wishing Loras were here instead. At least he was outspoken enough that she could handle him. Renly had this unfortunate knack for making her spill her guts.  
  
She changed the subject. This time, Renly let her.  
  
“Why is everyone so,” she grappled with the sight of skirts and lip-gloss, and settled on a word, “ _shiny_  today?”  
  
“Prom campaigning,” he reminded her. “Candidates are announced next week.”  
  
Brienne shuddered, grateful she didn’t have to worry about going this year.  
  
“Prom sounds almost as bad as cotillion,” she muttered.  
  
Renly brightened.  
  
“Oh, yes. A little birdy told me –“  
  
Brienne groaned, kicking herself for giving him ammunition. She was grateful when they reached her homeroom and she could duck away inside.   
  
She listened attentively as Renly’s brother Stannis read the morning announcements, reminding everyone that mud-slinging campaigns in the race for prom court would be strictly dealt with.  
  
 _Maybe I’ll just stay a sophomore,_  Brienne consoled herself.  
  
It was 4th period when she realized that freezing the school year meant Jaime would stay a senior.   
  
Her five minutes with the counselor were up and she was keeping herself busy running errands for him. Mr. V had sent her to the secretary for a stack of memos. Jaime was in the nurse’s office stocking up on pain pills.  
  
“I can’t wait to be free of that old bat,” Jaime grumbled, glancing behind him to watch the nurse putter around the room, locking up various medications.  
  
“Jaime,” Brienne clutched the memos to her, swallowing hard. “Hey.”  
  
“Brienne,” he taunted, not quite smiling.  
  
“How was your –“ she winced, realizing she was probably the hundredth person to ask about his weekend, and tried to recover. “– the hospital? I’m sure you had a lot of visitors.”  
  
Jaime shrugged. It looked awkward with his right arm bound in plaster.  
  
“Ian showed up to grimace his sympathies and drop off some old NHL DVDs. And my family drove me nice and crazy.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
He must have heard her confusion, because he rolled his eyes at her and his mouth turned sour.  
  
“I wasn’t exactly inviting people over.”  
  
Brienne wasn’t sure what to do with that.  
  
“Sorry I didn’t –“  
  
“Whatever,” he wouldn’t let her finish. “I’m sure you were busy with your thriving social life.”  
  
That stung, but Brienne tried not to let him see.  
  
“I spent some time with my dad,” she offered.  
  
Jaime widened his eyes in a facsimile of surprise.  
  
“Oh, hey! So did I!”  
  
She shifted, listening closely to the squeak of her shoes on the linoleum.  
  
“’Well now that this hockey distraction is over and done with,’” Jaime quoted, rough and authoritative, “’you can focus on what’s important. You’ll be recovered for football, of course? A redshirt year, if you’re still too weak to make D1.’”  
  
“But –“ Brienne foundered, blinking at the hard twist of his mouth. “Doesn’t he know football’s your off-season?”  
  
Jaime snorted.  
  
“My dad played football. Division II.”  
  
As if that explained everything.  
  
“Isn’t your dad making you do cotillion?” he changed the subject, turning and heading down the empty hallway.  
  
“He’s not  _making_  me,” Brienne defended staunchly, catching up to him in two long strides.  
  
“So why are you torturing yourself?”  
  
 _I’m not,_  she tried to say. Couldn’t.  
  
Jaime laughed silently at her, as though he knew what she was thinking.  
  
She tried valiantly to recover.  
  
“To, I dunno, make him-“  
  
“-proud?” Jaime mocked.  
  
Brienne glared at him.  
  
“ _Happy_.”  
  
“I took Cersei to her cotillion,” Jaime said. “I’ve never seen a room full of people pretending so hard to be happy.”  
  
Brienne crossed her arms, angry and uncomfortable. Was it so wrong to try and please her dad?  
  
“You must have been right at home,” she grunted.  
  
Jaime’s eyes narrowed.  
  
“I can work a crowd,” his shrug looked calculated. “You’re crazy if you think you ever will.”  
  
He sent her a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. Then he turned and strode away down the hall, kicking a backpack that someone had left in the walkway.  
  
Brienne stood alone, listening to of his footsteps echo into nothingness.  
  
She spent the afternoon stewing, but eventually she had to concede that he was right. She couldn’t learn social grace in a year, let alone a few months. Jaime wasn’t the only one to point it out. He was just the one she’d thought was on her side.  
  
Brienne sighed, and thought about the catch in Jaime’s voice when he talked about his dad.   
  
Maybe Renly was right. Maybe Jaime needed someone on  _his_  side.  
  
Brienne was not entirely surprised to see Jaime’s Range Rover outside the arena when she pulled up for practice. He was sitting in a corner of the box, dressed in street clothes, arguing with his stepbrother Tyrion.  
  
Brienne hung back, watching, as her teammates pushed past her to suit up.  
  
Words were clearly failing Tyrion; he crossed his arms and glared.   
  
Jaime set his jaw.   
  
Tyrion gave up. Shaking his head, he hopped off the bench and exited the box.  
  
“Make sure he calls when practice is over,” Tyrion muttered as he stalked past her. “He’s not supposed to touch the ice.  _Or drive_ ,” he raised his voice so his brother could hear, but Jaime pretended he hadn’t.   
  
“Where’s he going?” Brienne asked, running her thumb along a chip in the glass divider.  
  
“To hit on something.”  
  
Most people expected Jaime to be the man-whore of his family. Brienne was kind of glad it was Tyrion.  
  
“What are you-“  
  
“Am I the team captain or what?” he barked.  
  
Brienne shrunk back.  
  
“Alright,” she agreed, not sure what else to say. She shuffled her feet, tried lamely, “My left slapshot’s weak. Keep an eye on it?”  
  
Jaime’s jaw tensed and relaxed.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Brienne hovered for a moment before heading for the locker rooms. She glanced back at Jaime’s stiff shoulders, wondering why he was torturing himself.   
  
Knowing that, if it were her, she’d be sitting right there on that bench with him, staring at the ice.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback. Please and thank you.


End file.
